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Besides that, many Members of Parliament derive pleasure even from experiences which by others are regarded as worries and vexations. Their correspondence, with all its manifestations of strange phases of human nature, is a source of entertainment to some, and it ministers to the sense of self-importance of others. There are Members who give an ear of affable condescension to eccentric frequenters of the Central Hall, such as the mad engineer with his scheme for uniting Ireland with Great Britain by a bridge thrown across the Channel, via the Isle of Man, thus consummating a real tangible union between the two countries. They have a smile of welcome and a hearty handshake for all and sundry from their constituencies who call upon them at St. Stephen’s. There are Members to whom the pressing invitations to attend bazaars, flower shows, tea meetings, smoking concerts, cricket and football matches, are flattering evidence of their popularity, and they are accepted accordingly with a rare delight.
The House of Commons affords a splendid field—no better in the whole wide world—for the vain and ambitious who yearn for applause or crave for power. Any Member can easily emerge from the obscurity of the back benches into the full glare of the limelight. Let him but flagrantly break one of the rules of order, and his name will appear as a headline in a thousand newspapers. Then there are the material rewards. The young and ambitious are offered the dazzling prospect of office. The possession of any post in the Administration, even the humblest, carries with it a seat on the Treasury Bench, side by side with eminent statesmen whose names are household words. It carries also the right, when addressing the House, to stand at the Table before the famous despatch box, to lean elbow on it, and even to thump it, as an added emphasis in the very passion of argument, as was done by all the renowned parliamentarians of the past. It is true that keen and fierce is the competition for the higher offices in the Administration. The House of Commons, with all its constitutional supremacy as an institution, is composed of human beings. That being so, it is not free from the unamiable characteristics of intrigue and envy; and the qualities of resolute will and tenacity of purpose are, indeed, necessary in the ambitious young Member if he is to escape from being pushed aside or being trampled upon in the race for office. Once on the Treasury Bench, however, he has won half the battle for a post in the very hierarchy of the Government—the exclusive ring of Cabinet Ministers.
Yet the number of men in the House of Commons without social or political ambition is remarkably large; men, too, who are absolutely unknown outside their constituencies. They are in Parliament literally for their health. During the day they are engaged in the direction of great industrial and commercial undertakings, and in the evening they go down to Westminster for that rest and recuperation which comes with change of scene and occupation. They find the duties of an M.P. very agreeable, on the whole. The responsibilities of the position sit lightly upon them. They find a joy in all the details of parliamentary life.
Many old men, who have spent themselves in trade or finance, take to politics in the evening of their days as a mild relaxation or hobby, and a means of prolonging life. There was once a great merchant who, when he left for ever his desk in the city, after an association of half a century, found the separation a terrible strain, and seemed likely to pine and mope his way quickly to the grave. His medical adviser recommended him to find a seat in the House of Commons as a distraction to relieve the monotony of his existence. But the old man did not like the suggestion. He knew nothing of public questions. The financial intelligence was the only portion of his morning paper which he had carefully studied for fifty years. “If you do not go into the House of Commons, you will have to go to Paradise,” said the doctor; “it is the only alternative.” “Then I will choose the House of Commons,” said the old City man, with a sigh of resignation. And how glad he was when he became a Member! At last, something of the joy of life had really come to him.
To sit silently on the green benches during a debate, save when they cheer a supporter, or roar at an opponent, and to walk through the division lobbies, voting as directed by the Whips, amply satisfy the desire of not a few Members for political thought and labour. It is an existence that excites and soothes by turns. Disraeli once said to a friend who had just entered the House of Commons: “You have chosen the only career in which a man is never old. A statesman can feel and inspire interest longer than any other man.” A seat in the House does not, of course, make one a statesman. But, as a general proposition, there is much force in Disraeli’s saying. Old men find the fountain of youth in the halls of Westminster. It is all nonsense what one sometimes reads about the weary and trying round of parliamentary life. There are men in the House of Commons who, after twenty, thirty, forty years of service, show no symptoms of physical exhaustion, and who will tell you that Parliament is the most interesting and most entertaining place in the world. John Morley once spoke of the daily round of an M.P. as “business without work and idleness without rest.” During the years he was engaged in writing his Life of Gladstone he took no active part in the controversies of the House of Commons. But he could not keep entirely away from the place. How often had I seen that fine philosophical writer at this particular period of his career sitting on the front Opposition Bench, at the gangway corner, his arms folded, his legs crossed, listening, like an ordinary mortal, for hours to Members venturing to say this, not hesitating to say that, going one step further, adding another word, on subjects that must have had no interest for him. The spell of the House of Commons was upon him. He could not keep away. He had to come down, even as a distraction, just to see if anything was going on. Nothing was going on, but he remained for hours.